


pink death

by MsSir



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, despite the name no one dies, f&fgiftexchange2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSir/pseuds/MsSir
Summary: It's just a migraine, isn't it?
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142





	pink death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XVnot15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XVnot15/gifts).



> This was written for the 2019 _Fiction and Femslash_ Discord's Fic Exchange.  
> Hiya, XV, I hope you enjoy!

Miranda had a busy weekend planned, all of it work related. The goal was to put _Runway_ a month and a half ahead of schedule. This would give the team a good head start while leaving space for current events (should something worthy occur). It would also allow time for mistakes, lack of creativity, and lack of sense by her staff. But most importantly, it would give Miranda the ability to take a week off in an almost painless manner.

Andrea had mentioned how little time they had together recently; Miranda hoped a small vacation, with the girls, was what was needed (if she could get a ski coach for the week they'd forgive the presence of _The Book_ ).

Days after making the decision everything fell into place, solidifying her plan. The current issue had jumped two weeks ahead of schedule. Her daughters were at their father's house until Monday after classes. They had even elected to take Patricia with them (Gregory was in no position to refuse). There were no events or dinners that required her appearance. All social obligations had been cancelled or rescheduled.

The only loose thread was the one attached to Andrea.

Miranda had asked—as nicely as she could—that Andrea stay at her apartment for the weekend. However, after some whining about awful girlfriends or some such nonsense, Miranda made an amendment, suggesting instead that Andrea limit her time at the townhouse. She was welcome to share a meal—or even a bed—but she would have to entertain herself.

There was some pouting. It was ignored.

Friday played out exactly as Miranda needed. Her staff showed their skill and her girlfriend stayed at home. Not only did she get _The Book_ completed, she was also able to edit one of the longer articles and pick the final images for a decidedly difficult skirt spread.

Saturday morning, however, met her with a headache, a low throbbing pain at the base of her skull. Her morning routine quickly taught her it was mostly ignorable, unless she moved, so her actions were punctuated by small pauses to allow the flare ups time to pass.

Miranda rarely had meals alone, but when she did, it was a steak at her desk. Unfortunately, most people—her children and girlfriend included—had yet to learn the value of silence. The stillness of breakfast felt like a blessing and, after she finished her meal, she sat and mapped out a good portion of her day.

Her trip back up to her study was quite unpleasant and she took some Tylenol before she settled into her work. She was in the middle of an article when she heard the front door open. Andrea was too early for lunch.

She listened as the footsteps headed to the den and remapped the rest of her day. Andrea's version of "quiet and out of the way" would still require some attention so Miranda wouldn't be able to work on any articles. Instead, she could work on outlining the _Letter from the Editor_. There were three more sets of photos that needed to be narrowed down and a couple of shoots that needed to be designed (the more detail, the less room for error). With these tasks, things she could complete at half attention if needed, she'd be able work downstairs, near Andrea—who would stay away from the study in an attempt to not distract Miranda.

Miranda had been sitting relatively still for more than two hours and when she stood it was without the proper regard. The consequences, much worse than earlier, left her with a dizzy nauseousness mixed with indescribable pain that sent her back to a sitting position. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm the pain, but it no longer wanted to stop just because the movement had.

Miranda could not remember the last time she had a migraine this bad. Medication and sleep were her best weapons and she had more than enough medication to choose from.

Her second attempt at standing happened much slower than the first. She moved carefully down the hall to her bathroom. She took three Excedrin before gathering her laptop, sketchbook, and her box of pens.

Andrea was still in the den. "I thought you'd stay upstairs."

Miranda didn't reply, she just made her way to her favorite spot—the left side of the two-seater. Andrea was already in her usual spot, next to Miranda's, with a book in her hand. Miranda took in Andrea's appearance and could feel the brunette doing the same. Miranda took in Chanel and Lagerfeld and Andrea was took in choppy movements and shallow breathing.

Andrea moved to stand, but Miranda shook her head. She set her things on the coffee table and moved to fold herself onto the cushion in her usual manner. That caused her nausea to present itself as pain and she hissed.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

Miranda didn't like _honey_ , but Andrea liked nicknames (and it didn't annoy her nearly as much as _baby_ and it's variations—which had almost caused an argument) so she ignored it. "It's just a migraine." She picked up the laptop and shifted twice more. The only comfortable position she had the energy to find included both feet on the floor.

Andrea's hand moved up and down Miranda's arm before it came to a rest at her wrist. "You look like you're going be sick."

"Yes, well, that is a common symptom." Her tone asked for the subject to be dropped.

"I suppose it is." Andrea picked up Miranda's hand and kissed it. "Good afternoon, Miranda. Were you able to get lots of work done?" It was only slightly mocking and a lot playful, with a genuine smile.

"Hello, Andrea. Wonderful to see you," her smile and tone teasing. She leaned in for a proper kiss. Then another. "It was a productive morning." She narrowed her eyes, "this afternoon should prove to be the same."

Andrea dropped her book and Miranda's hand in her lap, then put both hands up in surrender. "I can entertain myself," she laughed, "just, um, one more—" She kissed Miranda again and it lingered, sweet and deep. When it was done, Miranda sent a pointed look toward Andrea's reading material before she opened her laptop.

They sat in comfortable silence, Miranda outlined and started the _Letter from the Editor_ for the current issue and Andrea read. About twenty minutes into this arrangement, the brunette started to fidget. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for Miranda to know she needed to switch tasks. Andrea likes small talk and, since sketching rarely required all of Miranda's attention, she could engage Andrea in conversation. Not only would that ease the younger woman's fidgeting, it'd also distract her from her concern without letting her feel like she was getting in the way.

Andrea's twitching slowly increased and, at one point, it turned into movement as she made her way to the bar to get them both waters. Miranda watched, but from the corner of her eye; she kept her true focus on the _Letter_ until it was completed. She closed the laptop and slowly leaned forward, which pulled Andrea's remaining attention away from her book. Miranda only wanted to sit the laptop down and pick up her sketchbook and pens. However, the pain pills hadn't kicked in and she was distracted by a woozy pain.

Andrea took the laptop from her and Miranda watched as questions and concerns flooded the young woman's features. Miranda ignored them as she was handed the sketchbook. Andrea held on to the pens until Miranda had opened the pad to a blank page.

"Thank you." She wanted to avoid conversation about her headache so kept her eyes from meeting brown and the quiet that followed expressed an acceptance of that avoidance. Miranda pulled out the pencil she kept with her pens, placing a few lines before she spoke again. "How was your meeting yesterday?"

Andrea was still surprised, sometimes, by Miranda's conversational offerings and that question triggered some of that surprise. Every now and again, Miranda wanted to take offense at that surprise (because, of course, she paid attention when Andrea spoke) but then Andrea would smile and relax into conversation. This time the smile was slow to form because Andrea understood there was distraction mixed in, but eventually, she fell into her topic. She was able to release a good deal of energy by way of words and Miranda was able to work for another fifty minutes before she was interrupted again. This time for lunch.

Miranda declined; her stomach hadn't quite stopped spinning and she wasn't hungry enough to test putting something on top of that feeling. "But if you wouldn't mind," she looked to the almost empty water bottle in front of her.

Andrea nodded and moved towards the bar. "You took something, didn't you?"

"Yes." She hadn't moved in a while and wasn't sure if, or how much, the last dose was working, but still she wished she had brought the bottle down with her.

Andrea sat a new water next to the old one before leaving the room. Moments later, Miranda heard her move up the stairs. Three minutes later she was presented with bottles of Advil, Excedrin, and Tylenol.

"I don't know which one you took," Andrea placed the bottles next to the water. "Just make sure to read the dosing rules. It's been about an hour and you may not be able to take more."

Of course, Miranda knew that, but she wasn't annoyed by the reminder.

The next distraction Miranda experienced came from her bladder. She placed her things on the couch next to her before slowly moving to stand. The pain moved through her body fast and gathered in two places: the base of her skull and behind her belly button. It was almost bearable, until she coughed.

She had to fight to remain standing, the pain intensified as the air moved out of her body. She knew she needed to vomit more than she needed to pee and her eyes started to water.

She was four steps from the couch when she coughed again. She had to swallow some of it (she was _not_ going to be sick in the den), but that led to another cough, another round of pain, too close on the heels of the last one, and it floored her. She took half a second to be grateful for making it past the coffee table before crawling to the bathroom as fast as her dizziness allowed

Vomiting had never hurt so much. Each movement echoed throughout her entire body. It felt as if she was expelling everything she had ever eaten. At some point, Andrea came in, sat on the floor next to her, and rubbed circles across her back. She heard parts of soft things whispered between horrid pet names. When things stopped trying to escape her body Andrea helped her up from the floor.

Miranda met Andrea’s eye and knew the brunette wanted to stay, to comfort; but Miranda looked to the toilet before she met Andrea’s eyes again.

"I'll, um, give you a minute," Andrea said as she slowly backed out of the room.

Miranda stood in front of the mirror, hands gripped tight on the sink, barely able to see her reflection, the hall's light the only thing brightening the room. She rinsed out her mouth before she emptied her bladder. Her headache had returned to its low throb, intensifying only a little when she moved. The pain in her stomach, however, was stronger and ever present, moving in waves from steady to angry and back again.

There was a spare toothbrush in this bathroom, for whatever reason, and Miranda was grateful for it as she brushed away all evidence the rinsing left behind. She wondered what combination of things would be needed to dampen this. Pills alone were not effective enough, sleep was a long ways off, but maybe another cup of coffee would be helpful.

Andrea had spent the entire time Miranda was cleaning up thinking of every horrible thing that could be wrong, the older woman saw it the moment they made eye contact.

Andrea opened and closed her mouth, twice, before speaking. "You look—" she shook her head. "I think, um, maybe we should go to the hospital." Andrea was aware of Miranda's aversion to medical facilities, but she ignored that and the look being directed at her. "I think you have appendicitis."

Miranda blinked, unsure of how that conclusion was drawn.

"My brother's sym—your head still hurts, right? And your belly button, too?"

Miranda felt a spike of annoyance; this was not that serious. "It's just a bad migraine." She picked up the bottle of Advil, "it's already a bit better," she shook two pills into her palm, "and I'm sure this will take care of the rest of it." She swallowed the pills dry, not ready to put water into her stomach. She moved around the table, to sit down and finish her sketch. She didn't try to pull her feet up this time and had to wait for the brunette to relinquish the sketchbook and pens she found in her seat.

Andrea spent five minutes watching Miranda and her still reserved movements. "What if it _is_ appendicitis?"

"It's not."

"But—"

Miranda looked up from the page, into big, panicked brown eyes, "it is _not_ appendicitis."

"Look at you. You're pale, you still have a headache, your body hurts. I think we moved past migraine status."

"Andrea, darling—"

Brown eyes rolled, aware of the fact that Miranda only used the term when she was truly annoyed but trying to be patient.

"I don't have the time or desire for unnecessary trips to the ER."

"Oh, you'll have plenty of time if you die."

"Enough. I am not going to the hospital. If you can't accept that, maybe you should leave."

Andrea's jaw went slack and Miranda watched as shock, anger, and confusion joined the concern on the brunette's face.

They stared at each other for at least a minute before Andrea nodded.

"Okay." It was quiet, almost lost to the sound of her collecting her things.

Miranda thought that was too easy, but all things considered, she would take it. Andrea didn't say anything else, but she did stop to kiss Miranda good-bye, her face still covered in concern.

"Don't worry. I'll take some more Excedrin and tomorrow I'll be right as rain." She truly believed it, even gave a smile, but the reassurance failed.

Andrea nodded, her expression momentarily filled with hesitation and apology. Miranda assumed it was in relation to leaving. She shrugged it off and went back to her sketch.

She heard the door lock, but not the alarm, so she made a mental note to arm the system before going to bed. The thought of bed led her to, once again, remapping her day. After this she'd go back to working on the articles she set aside. There was a chance they all wouldn't be used, depending on next month's final theme and main spread, but having them edited put her ahead of the game.

It took less than ten minutes to finish the photo shoot sketch, but instead of reaching for the laptop, or even letting go of the sketchbook, she leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. She went over everything she ate the day before, nothing seemed bad enough to cause this pain and random cramping. She took a few deep breaths and, unsuccessfully, tried to will the pain away.

Then she heard the front door unlock and open.

Andrea's voice floated softly down the hall, "yes, but you know how stubborn she gets."

Miranda felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. She put down the sketchbook, sat up straight, and waited.

Andrea walked into the room with Miranda's phone pressed to her ear. She stopped in front of the coffee table and held the phone out to Miranda. "Your mother would like to speak to you."

Miranda's brain short circuited for a moment. Betrayal flowed through her, not only had Andrea taken her phone, but she'd used it to call someone neither of them liked most of the time.

Andrea, who now looked somewhat smug but mostly worried, wiggled the phone a little, snapping Miranda out of her stupor.

The older woman took the phone as if it were a snake that'd strike at any moment and kept her eyes locked on Andrea, "hello, Mother."

"What's this I hear about you having appendicitis?"

"It's just a migraine." Miranda watched as Andrea rolled her eyes and moved around the table.

"It must be one hell of a _migraine_ , from what I hear."

"She was exaggerating, I'm sure."

The woman in question moved the sketchbook to the table, sat down next to Miranda, and took her hand.

Her mother hummed, "I'm sure. Did you take something? Is it working?"

"Yes, I took something."

"You know, you could always get some doctor strength pain relievers."

Miranda's eyes narrowed at Andrea. "I. Am. Not. Going to spend the rest of the day in the ER over a headache. I have work I could be doing." At this point it'd be work for the sake of working, she was reconsidering the vacation.

"Work, work, work! Who's going to take care of your little magazine if you die?"

"Mother, I'm not going to die!" Andrea squeezed her hand and a good deal of her wanted to be petty, wanted to pull away.

"Exactly, because you are going to let your girlfriend take you to the hospital."

Miranda's hand went limp in Andrea's. "Mother—"

"No, no. You are going." Miranda knew that tone and hated it. Her mother's voice then rose to overly cheery, "have her call me when you arrive."

Miranda watched the quiet victory appear in Andrea's eyes before she looked down at the phone in her hand. She wondered if English had a word for the type and depth of irritation that flowed through her. She snapped her phone shut, harder than necessary, as she met Andrea's eyes again.

"I can't believe you called my mother."

"I can't believe I had to."

Then they were staring again.

Miranda understood Andrea must sincerely fear for her life—there was no other excuse for calling such an overbearing, unpleasant women—but (as she was angry about the phone call, about being manipulated) that genuine concern didn't account for much. She was about to refuse, yet again, when Andrea squeezed her hand again.

"Please."

It was pleading and Miranda knew she lost.

The ride to the hospital was a little tense because Miranda refused to talk and Andrea refused to stop trying.

The last time Miranda was admitted to a hospital was for the birth of her children. The time before that was a broken leg at 14. Neither was a positive experience; on top of that, Miranda had both seen and heard enough stories to make never wanting to step foot in a hospital a logical conclusion; mistrust made sense, so when she was handed a thick packet of paperwork that needed to be signed before she could be admitted, her suspicions were raised. She wanted to know exactly what liabilities her signature could free them from.

She was two pages in when Andrea tapped her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Miranda didn't look up. "Reading."

"What?"

Her thoughts smiled at Andrea's annoyance as she met her eye, "you should never sign something without reading it first."

Andrea opened her mouth, closed it, looked at Miranda, looked at the paperwork, then, "I'm going to let her know we're here."

"Oh, yes, you do that." Then she went back to reading. Surprisingly enough, the hospital seemed to only want forgiveness for maybe not getting to her soon enough (which seemed reasonable), the rest appeared to be for her protection, or at least it was worded as such, so her lawyer would be able to get around it if there were cause.

The next forty-five minutes felt like two hours—Miranda was still bitter and sulking—then she was called to a triage station. Someone took her height and weight before the nurse came in, her tag said Rosalee.

"Are you in any pain?" Rosalee pulled a blood pressure cuff out of her pocket.

"It's completely tolerable at this point." She wasn't lying. Somehow, the movement necessary to get to the ER had helped with both points of pain, but more her stomach than her head.

"Then why are you here?" She positioned Miranda's arm. "Relax it."

"My girlfriend and mother insisted."

Rosalee nodded and wrapped the cuff around Miranda's arm. "Well, give me a few minutes and I'll prove you're in almost perfect health."

"Almost?"

"You did say there was some pain."

Miranda felt the cuff tighten and reminded herself to breathe normally.

After the pressure was released and the air hissed from the cuff, Rosalee made note in the chart. "That's really high, so I'll take it again in a moment. First, tell me about this now tolerable pain."

Miranda explained her migraine and the events of the day as plainly as she could, leaving out Andrea's diagnosis completely.

Rosalee made more notes before taking Miranda's blood pressure again.

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this—"

Miranda let out a sigh that could have been a groan.

"—but your blood pressure is 208 over 168. We have to admit you."

Her protection indeed. "Take it again."

"It was 210 over 176 the first time, but another nurse will take it again once you are roomed."

Miranda's body deflated with her exhale.

"You say the pain decreased, but with a blood pressure this high, maybe your body has tried to adjust to it." Rosalee paused, but was met by silence. "An orderly will be here in a minute with a gown and a room assignment."

Miranda nodded.

"The brunette with you, that's your girlfriend?"

An eyebrow raised as she nodded again.

"What's her name?"

The other eyebrow raised.

"We'll let her know you are being admitted and bring her back once you're situated."

Since the girl really only responds to _Andrea_ if the voice was Miranda's, she said, “Andy.”

Miranda hated hospitals for a number of reasons, but fairly high on that list was the lack of clocks, as if erasing the visible evidence of time would stop people from noticing how unnecessary long it took for anything to get done.

Once she was finally roomed and a doctor had time enough to see her, it was decided she needed a CT scan of her abdomen. They had also decided to give her some morphine through the IV they put in her arm.

In order to get a proper image, Miranda had to drink the nastiest liquid ever invented. The first time she was taken by surprise and the taste almost started another round of vomiting. The second time the nurse brought in the pink contrasting liquid Miranda knew what it was and refused to drink it.

The nurse looked to Andrea, who nodded, before she sat the bottle down and left the make-shift room.

"The doctors need you to drink this." Andrea picked the bottle up and started to shake it.

"No. It's horrid." Miranda was so relaxed, the pain virtually nonexistent at this point (doctor strength indeed). She wasn't high, but her filter wasn't working and she was extremely sleepy.

"I know, but the faster you drink it the less you will taste."

That hadn't worked the first time. "No."

"The sooner you'll be released?"

That got Miranda's attention, then she remembered why she was here in the first place. This could be one of Andrea's _I only want what's best for you_ tricks.

"Honey, please."

"Must you call me that?" Miranda blinked. There was genuine curiosity in the question, no malice or anger, but she hadn't meant to ask it.

The bottle of pink death stopped moving and Andrea looked hurt and lost. "You don't like—all this—okay, um, fine," she shook her head. "You still need to drink this." She tried to hand Miranda the bottle.

"No."

"Miranda!" The tone and face was rare, but powerful. Andrea's "dragon" was not one to be trifled with.

Miranda sighed, then pouted, annoyed that the word "no" had lost all its power. She took the bottle, contemplating her choices when Andrea cleared her throat. She looked up, met those brown eyes, and was reminded she had only one choice. She drank the thick liquid as fast as she could without gagging and sat the empty bottle on the bed tray, even though she imagined tossing it across the room.

"Good girl."

Miranda rolled her eyes. That term wasn't often used in their relationship, and when it was, it was reserved for Andrea. The young woman was seriously mistaken if she thought Miranda would be directing that at her any time soon.

Andrea sighed. "There has got to be a pet—"

Miranda cut her a glare that killed the rest of that nomenclature.

She tried again, "there has to be a term of endearment that doesn't annoy you."

Miranda closed her eyes, "there is." She was so tired; it didn't seem to matter that she'd done nothing but sleep (and drink horrid substances) since they wheeled her into this room.

"Well?"

Andrea's voice pulled her back to the surface. She wasn't aware almost two minutes had gone by.

"It's so pedestrian."

"What is? The name or you telling me?"

"Both." Miranda knew _Andy_ could never find a nickname "pedestrian" and she wasn't sure if she truly thought her preferred one was. However, she was not going to make this easy for Andrea. She rolled over, facing away from the brunette, and welcomed another nap.

After another round of contrasting medication—during which Andrea learned _sweetie_ and _love_ were not _it_ —Miranda was wheeled off for a CT.

Another thirty minutes passed like a small eternity before a doctor came in and told them Miranda had appendicitis and would require surgery. He also explained the procedures used and Miranda agreed the laparoscopic appendectomy was the best option (the complications from her cesarean section still too fresh in her mind for open surgery anything).

The wait for the actual surgery should have been the worst one yet. There was, according to a nurse, three other people in line ahead of her for the same procedure and only one surgeon available to perform them. However, the morphine created sleep allowed Miranda to ignore questions like "what if her appendix ruptured before her turn?" And "what if exhaustion interfered with the quality of the doctor's work?" It also took away just enough of Miranda's ability to care that she never realized Andrea didn't have such a distraction.

When they woke her, almost an hour later, to put her into a different type of sleep, she did have to deal with memories of her first surgery. They mixed with her questions, becoming fear she was now awake enough to experience. The nurses and doctor did try to ease some of her concerns. They explained, again, that this was a routine procedure and that she had nothing to worry about. They told her she'd feel no pain, that the anesthesia would kick in shortly. Then they told her to count down from a hundred.

Miranda was pulled from that sleep by a far away voice, small and nervous, telling her to wake up. She was confused by the statement and opened her eyes, questions ready; however, the scene that greeted her had stolen her words.

The first thing she saw was herself. She was in the hospital bed, adjusted almost to sitting, and looked very much asleep and unhealthy. A nurse stood next to the bed, taking Miranda's blood pressure. At the foot of the bed sat the doctor. Miranda was looking down, over the back of his head, her feet not on the ground.

The moment she realized she was having an out of body experience was the same moment she realized she couldn't feel any of her limbs—even if she could see and move them. She wondered if this meant she was almost dead; if she should look for a light; if she should float away from this reality.

 _Walk away from_ Runway, _really?_ The internal voice sounded a lot like Stephen's when he didn't care to hide his inner jerk.

The answer was (still) "no." She wasn't ready to let go of what felt like her soul, but her curiosity was strong. The temptation to look for an exit was still there. She was going to examine whether or not that made her suicidal when the doctor's voice bounced around the room. It still sounded far away and nervous, but now there was an impatient edge to it.

"Miranda! You need to wake up," he placed a hand (she couldn't feel) on her leg. "Now."

Miranda had never dealt well with authority and those who thought they had it. Her immediate reaction was usually some type of disobedience and it occurred to her that this moment might only be slightly different. Andrea often found Miranda's defiance amusing, but Miranda did not think that would apply to this situation.

It was an image of Andrea laughing with Cassidy and Caroline that erased all hesitation and curiosity about the afterlife, but Miranda wondered if she could keep this experience (and the initial defiance) to herself.

Before she could figure out how to get back into her body the doctor asked her, again, to wake. He didn’t use words this time, instead he lightly shook the leg under his hand. It was a strange sensation for Miranda; she’d never felt a touch’s echo before. She blinked at the feeling and ended up in the nothingness of a drug induced sleep.

After Miranda woke, on a doctor approved level, she was kept at the hospital until late Sunday evening. The anesthesia was slow in leaving her system and the doctor wanted to be able to watch her, to make sure there were no other reactions to it. She spent most of that time asleep; things were so groggy she didn't remember getting home, let alone how she got dressed and into bed. She did, however, remember the dream she had that night; it was the strangest and most peaceful dream she'd ever had.

It started in a field of blackness. She knew her eyes were open, that she could see fine, but that there was nothing for her to see. The emptiness didn't bother her, but being bodiless did cause some unease. It wasn't like before, where she could see and move, but not feel. This time there was nothing, nothing to see, nothing to move or to feel. There was nothing but _her_. Before she could think too hard on that, she heard voices; they sounded like a woman and a man. Their voices were low, but not quiet. She knew, somehow, that those voices belonged to bodiless beings, as well, and that made her feel better about it.

She started to wonder if she could move toward the voices and tried to pinpoint where they were coming from, but they seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere. But, somehow, by focusing on the sounds, she made them clearer even if they never became any louder. Their conversation was friendly and pleasant; it made Miranda feel calm even if she couldn't understand a single word they were saying. The language was like nothing she'd ever heard before. She could hear importance mixed into the pleasant nature of the conversation and the pull to understand was strong, so she tried to listen for repeat sounds and familiar tones. The melody was beautiful and its patterns took away her determination and she relaxed into the sounds as if she was listening to a well known and loved song.

She had no idea how long she existed like that, peaceful and wondrous, as their words flowed through and around her.

The sounds then shifted and she realized the speakers had not been aware of her presence until that moment. They hadn't said her name or changed their language, but she knew they had started to talk about her. And that talk, their awareness, started pushing her, not toward consciousness, but out of that space. She tried to hold on, to attach her mind to the sounds and stay in that soft-nothing a little bit longer, but it was out of her power.

The next morning, while they lay in bed, she told Andrea about the peace of the dream.

Andrea responded with a face Miranda couldn't decipher. She pulled Miranda into her side, into a tight hug, and said softly, "I'm glad you woke up."

Four days later the conversation was brought back to that weekend, but this time it was not focused on Miranda's surgery.

"Miranda?"

The older woman could hear the conversation in Andrea's voice, so she marked her page, closed _The Book_ , and made eye contact with the brunette, who was still on the other side of the room, where she and Cassidy had been playing _Wii_.

"There's something I've been confused about. I remember you saying _Runway_ was ahead of schedule."

Miranda nodded.

"So, why'd you have so much work last weekend?"

Miranda sighed, there was little point to discussing this failure, but she knew Andrea would not let it go without some kind of answer. "I was hoping to get us well past two weeks ahead of schedule." She then pulled her attention back to _The Book_.

Andrea turned off the television and moved to the seat next to Miranda. Miranda still thought it impressive, how easily Andrea could move into her space without disturbing it.

She ignored Miranda's attempt at ending the conversation. "Why?"

Miranda didn't sigh again, but the desire was there. "I wanted to get ahead enough to take a week off," she took a deep breath, "to take you and the girls skiing."

Andrea moved in even closer and took Miranda's free hand.

Miranda's eyes were still on _The Book_. "Since that's no longer possible, I was thinking we could do a weekend trip."

"That's really sweet of you."

That pulled her eyes to brown. "I am not _sweet_ , Andrea."

"Oh, yes, you are," she giggled. "And in so many ways, too."

"Don't be lewd."

Andrea's smile widened at the thought.

They sat there quietly, tucked together while Miranda pretended to study _The Book_. In actuality, she was waiting for Andrea to put all the pieces together. For her to realize the impromptu plan was an overreaction to an off-hand comment and that it was far-fetched and ill-planned. She was waiting for the gesture to go from "sweet" to "silly" in Andrea's mind as it had in her own.

"Sweetheart," Andrea started and Miranda felt the name cover her, it wrapped her in the feelings that happened only when true affection was mixed with those syllables. She turned her head in a poor attempt to hide the blush. She did not want to encourage Andrea, because she would understand and then invoke the feelings whenever she wanted.

Andrea cupped her chin and guided her to eye contact, smiling and understanding and happy as she stared into Miranda's eyes. That image hit Miranda deeper than any name could.

"Sweetheart." She dropped a kiss to Miranda's forehead before pressing one to her lips. "You do realize we've spent every day this week together?"

That was only half the goal. Plus, her recovery overshadowed a good deal of their time together. "This was hardly a vacation."

"No. No, it wasn't." she leaned back into the couch, taking Miranda with her. "I'm sure the girls would love a ski weekend. And if you wait a few weeks, it can be a birthday gift."


End file.
